A Second Grave

Ray Ellsworth pulled up to the gate of the Cavalito State Prison with his delivery truck.  Ray was delivering to the “Cav” for three years.  Twice a week he delivered dry goods to the prison cafeteria.  The prison used vast amounts of prepared food like oatmeal, Cream of Wheat and other products that did not require sharp implements to make and serve.  Food at the prison was high on calories and low on the need for sharp utensils in preparation. The inmates did not receive fine dining options.  Some inmates got more than their share, others less, but everyone went out of the cafeteria with a full stomach.

The deliveries to the prison usually took longer than any two other deliveries on his route because of the security routines.  If there was a problem inside the jail while Ray was there, he could be held up all day while they figured it out.  No one could enter or leave the prison when there was a problem, including delivery vehicles.  Ray spent seventeen hours at the Cav one day when a prisoner came up short during the morning count.  But, the money was good.  A state contract for sales of his company’s products provided a lucrative profit. It was worth the hassle, but it was still a pain.

This morning, Ray was first in line to enter the prison loading area.  This was good because early in was usually early out.  That made him happy as the Cav still creeped him out even after all these years of deliveries.  He never had a problem with a prisoner, but he still felt uneasy until he saw the gates in his rearview mirrors.  Then he breathed easier and let go of his tension.

Today he was sitting in the entryway for ten minutes waiting for John Hinkle to come and check his paperwork.  Sometimes it took Hinkle a few moments to get out to the gate, but this long wait was unusual for the guard.  Irritated, Ray blew his horn.  The air horn ricocheted off the walls returning to Ray’s truck.  Ten minutes later, he still didn’t see Hinkle or any other guard.  Rather than blowing the horn a second time, he climbed down out of the cab and walked to the guard house.

The prison was quiet today.  Ray did not hear the usual background noises associated with over four thousand pent up human beings.  Glancing up, he noticed that there were no guards visible on the walls or in the parts of the courtyard visible through the chain-link fence.  In fact, Ray didn’t see anyone, anywhere.  “Sure hope this doesn’t mean that there is a problem today,” he thought, “I got too much to do to waste time here.”

Opening the door, he stepped in.  Three guards sat in chairs surrounding the central table.  None of them moved.  The guard closest to the door had a pink froth around his lips that spread down his uniform shirt.  A slight, sweet odor, hung in the air.  Ray didn’t stick around to see the others.  He backed quickly out of the room and raced to his truck.  He opened the driver’s side door and grabbed his cell phone.

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

“I’m at the Cav waiting to make a delivery, and the guards are all dead.”  Ray was direct, to the point and completely shaken.

“You say the guards are dead?  What is your address?”

“I’m at the Cav! The Cavalito State Prison.  You need to get someone out here right away!”

“Stay on the line.” 

Within thirty minutes, over one hundred state and local police officers converged on the Cav.  EMTs and rescue squads from miles around were making their way to the prison with sirens screaming and lights flashing.  They notified the Governor, and National Guard units were assembling.  Officials from the Bureau of Corrections were on their way, and the FBI sent agents to the scene.

The first officers inside the prison found no one alive.  The guards were all near their posts and uniformly dead.  All of the gates were locked.  All of the cells remained closed.  The sharpshooters in the towers were dead at their posts, as were the guards in the entry ways.  Sergeant Peter Bosceli called the impromptu command post outside the walls.

“Bosceli here, so far we have found seventeen guards.  All dead.  Do you want us to keep going into the prison proper?”

Captain Kevin Wine thought for a moment.  “Bosceli, how many men do you have with you?”

“Three.”

“Okay, keep going, but if you run into anything unusual pull back immediately.”

“Roger.”  Bosceli put the radio back in its holster and nodded at his three companions.  They moved to the first locked door entering the prison proper.  One of his men opened the lock, and they all stepped through.  They moved further into the silent prison past checkpoints and offices.  In every room, there were dead bodies, all with a pink froth around their mouths.  Bosceli was appalled at the carnage he was witnessing.  Also, he was growing concerned that the prison was dead quiet.  The prisoners should have been creating a huge uproar wanting out of their cells to go to breakfast and start the day.  Either these were the most polite inmates in the world, or there was something profoundly wrong here.

Bosceli continued to contact Wine as they made their way through layer after layer of security into the “D” cellblock.  The guards they passed were all dead at their posts.  Bosceli threw the switch to open the final door.  Before entering he checked his weapon, took a deep breath, and stepped through.

His footsteps echoed through the cell block.  He heard the sounds of his companions behind him as he approached the first cell on the left.  The door was closed and locked.  Bosceli stepped quickly around the wall and looked into the cell.

Four inmates lay on the floor or their beds.  Dead.  From the art and graffiti on the walls, it was clear that they were all members of the Eighteenth Street Gang.  The tattoos confirmed Bosceli’s initial opinion of gang memberships.  Swallowing hard, he moved on.  The next cell contained more bodies, and the next cell more still.  He made his way from one end of the cell block to the other without finding a single living person.  Shaken, he gathered his companions and retraced their steps.  He found SWAT members assembled and ready for any eventuality waiting at the entrance.

Bosceli and Wind held a hasty conference.  Wine left and called the Governor.  Within an hour, the Governor landed in the parking lot in a National Guard helicopter.  A perimeter was set up around the prison which was keeping staff, visitors, and deliveries out of the area.  News crews were set up and broadcasted blather before they had a single fact.  They would be a long time waiting, but that wouldn’t keep them from clogging the airways with sound bites.

As the Governor entered the command post, Wine, Bosceli and General Barry Colgate of the National Guard joined him.  The four men and their aides crowded into the room.

“Sergeant Bosceli are you telling me that no one, not guards or prisoners, staff or anyone else is alive in there?”

“We only got to cellblock D, but we didn’t see a single living person in there.”

“No one?”

“No sir.”

“Okay.  First thing let’s get the guards out of there.”  The Governor was pensive.  Elected on a law and order platform, Jefferson Goldman was 54, vital, and active with a shock of gray hair among the thinning brown hair of his youth.  At five foot ten inches tall, he did not command a room when he walked in, but his force of personality soon gave him the keys to any situation.  Financial issues, not civil issues marked his third term as Governor. 

“Barry, get some of your guys to remove the bodies.” Barry Colgate nodded. In his US Army fatigue uniform, the General cut an imposing figure. Colgate believed that he should set an example for his men. The General ran every day and lifted weights three times a week. His physical fitness was legendary in today’s Army. Colgate stepped away and began issuing orders.

Governor Goldman turned to his aide, “Let’s get the Attorney General and the Press Secretary down here. We are going to have a lot of explaining to do to a lot of people. We need to make sure that our answers are crisp and precise and not left open to interpretation.”

“What do you want my men to do?” asked Wine.

“Let’s have your men take over for the dead guards for the time being. We need the guard house manned and the control centers guarded. I think we can leave the towers unmanned at this point. But be sure that no one gets in or out without my approval.”

Wine nodded as he and Bosceli moved out to assign guards.